The Worst Prince Plot Ever
by Renisca
Summary: Tom Quincy Prince isn't very good at getting what he wants - which makes logical sense, considering he doesn't have any idea what he wants.
1. I Love Snickerdoodles

**A/N: I don't really have much to say, except that I really hope anyone reading this enjoys it. Which is something pretty evident because anyone would generally assume that I hope my writing is enjoyed without me having to say it. Well, that and I also have to say that this is gonna be slightly more risqué than the mobile game, but what other way can you fully address or point and laugh at stuff that's only subtly hinted at otherwise? I would blame it on the characters "having minds of their own" but I honestly hate it when authors say that because a less-cryptic rephrasing would be "this stuff just comes to me naturally because I'm so freaking gifted. Ha!" And I'm jealous of that. Grr…Oh, the disclaimer! My, my, sometimes I swear that if I didn't have my head screwed on it would fall off! I mean, uh, I would lose it. You know. But either way makes sense.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the SHS characters. If I did, there would be a storyline where Kim and Tom get together, but they decided to stick Kim with Phil instead because Kim wanted Spike but Spike's with Mallika and Mallika was with Phil before that, and sticking the rejects together is the easiest way to tie up the plot. Okay, that was overly harsh, but at least now if you're not familiar with SHS you'll still understand what's going on.**

**So, yeah. Enjoy the first chapter, o' course. :D**

His eyes cast about everywhere but at Kim's expectant face and he keeps the snickerdoodle close to his mouth, like that'll hide the fact that his jaw seems reluctant to unhinge itself.

"Um, Spike?" Mallika's amused by how unwilling Spike is to say he doesn't like the cookie but even more amused that he's so stuck in his own little world while trying to work out how he's ever, _ever_ going to swallow what is to him a brick of acidly sour cinnamon.

Kim gives Spike an insistent look but finally caves. "Hey, it's okay if you don't like them. Not everybody does."

Relief washes over Spike's face almost immediately. "I'm sorry, snickerdoodles just aren't my thing, I guess. I'm sure they're great," he says with half-chewed snickerdoodle glop still trying its best to melt in his mouth as he talks.

"Do you need a napkin?" Kim says and laughs openly, pointing to the modest plastic napkin holder next to the cash register. (Ms. Rose always said, "I won't let anybody out of this bakery without a napkin or two, Kim; if you'd worked here as long as I have, you'd know that even the cleanest person leaves crumbs if you don't give 'em a napkin. But does it matter where they get the napkin from? No, those metal things they have at diners are horsefeathers.")

"Uh, that would be nice. And do you have any water?"

Kim's look of fake offense is haltingly kind. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that'll get the taste of my nasty cooking right out of your system."

"Look, I'm sorry," Spike covers his hand with his mouth this time.

Kim reaffirms the fact that she's teasing, then goes around to the back room to get a bottled water from the fridge, her reflection trailing against the shiny glass counter with its infinite rows of goodies, or maybe not-so-goodies, as she moves. Kim holds the cold bottle against her palm and stands in the part of the bakery nobody ever sees for a minute, and the room temperature is significantly higher, dank against the fridge air, and she can remember that Ms. Rose never approved charging people for bottled water or else "she would have done it, it wouldn't have hurt [her] pocketbook any."

The sun illuminates one of the tables and its pair of cutesy metal chairs, painted white and slowly chipping but not rusting, where Mallika and Spike are now already seated. She's dabbing his face with another napkin and they're both laughing uncontrollably by now. Kim looks on in part disdain, part jealousy – what else would you expect from somebody who still likes Spike, just a little? And since when did not being able to eat something properly have such great novelty value, anyway?

The bell over the door frame jingles just as Kim sets the water down and smoothes her apron out of habit.

It's Tom Prince.

"Hello," he says with a nod to everyone in the room, awkward in the fact that he fits all three nods in the space of that one word.

He's still not used to being nice to people, that's for sure. Kim imagines the great disgust it must have cost him, besotted with his high status as he is._ Miserable little guttersnipes! Eugh,_ he must now be thinking somewhere under that coiffed head of hair, she knows it.

"Hey, Tom! What's up?" Kim replies slickly and flashes a wide grin.

Yes, she's going to rub it in. There's something inherently delightful about watching Tom's pretty boy expression grapple with self-struggle as he tries to hide the fact that he hates contact with anyone he considers beneath himself, working his eyes over the counter and looking positively aggrieved.

"Er, well. Nothing that hasn't been up before, I suppose. You know as much about my recent past as I do." He grants a couple moments of silence and adds, "I'll take a dozen snickerdoodles."

Since there's no way Kim's going to let him off that easily, what she says next is of the typical-but-it-works nature: "Oh, I'm fine, Tom. Thanks for asking."

"…I'm sorry, I'm just a bit…rushed. You know, lots of things to do."

"Really? Like what?"

He is taken aback, practically astounded by a public servant talking to him this much, and with an attitude this cheeky. "I – I have to wonder why you're so intent on making my private life your business."

"Well, fine. I don't care."

"Oh, okay," Tom says, rolling his eyes while sarcasm drips from his voice, which has that posh-accent affectation to it that all rich people seem to have from a young age.

Kim crosses her arms instinctively and steps back from the counter, because she thinks she knows the answer to what she asks next: "What's that supposed to mean?"

She's right, unfortunately. "Well, since you don't seem to take issue with frankness, I'll just say it. Based on, well, particularly vast empirical experience, when a girl asks Tom Prince a question about his…fascinating, glitzy, and fast-paced life, it's because she wants to become a part of it."

Kim just stands numbly, unable to think, although the burning fact that she'll be thinking about it later is a neon light somewhere in her subconscious. She doesn't say anything; she just can't help but stare with a militantly angry fixed expression, and because the moment is so preposterous yet so real, she doesn't realize how long she's staring, and it obviously makes things 100 times worse. Spike and Mallika look on with a tenseness in their eyes that says they're waiting for regular Kim to come back, regular Kim who could snap this guy's arm off arm-wrestling and make perfectly hilarious wisecracks, rhyming or no, while doing it and who doesn't just freaking _stare_ at the audacity of this guy until it doesn't seem like she's staring at his audacity anymore. Maybe more like she wants to stare at the second syllable.

The Kim comeback finally happens, but it happens in a way that's like comparing now-dethroned Ryan, on a bad day (a Nicole-broke-up-with-him-and-stole-20-bucks-from-him-day) to Gangstabot: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Oh, how the tables have turned - now Tom's the one about to rub cinnamon in the snickerdoodle. Maybe he's enjoying a situation caused by a completely unwarranted comment way too much, but hey, these people are nothing to him.

"I do apologize; I only wanted to prevent this before it started. Many a middle-class girl has had her heart broken by pining –" he wants to be even worse and use the word "lusting", but a split-second decision proves it would be a bit too cruel, "after Tom Quincy Prince, but…it would be best for them, and of course for me as well, if they came to the painful but absolutely correct realization that he's way out of their league. I mean, I'm sorry to put this in such terms that require bragging, but I'm an icon, and I'm way out of the league of anyone who -" he slows down here because there are countless anecdotes – anecdotes because he tells them all the time at gala dinners and such – about girls who mustered up the courage to ask him out and he struggles to remember them all, "works at the local grocer, or the daycare center, or is a waitress at Crab King and moonlights in a rock band, or sells hair extensions at a mall kiosk, or just wanders the street like some mendicant hobo, _or_ –" he casts a pointed look at Mallika – "was recommended to me based on relation to the King of Canada. When there _is no King of Canada_. Point is, none of them worked out because I obviously said no on the spot," he finishes, eyes gleaming in petty victory as he readjusts his collar.

"Or maybe it's because Tom Quincy Prince doesn't like _girls_."

Cut to the background audience again, where Spike nearly does a spit take with his bottled water and a giant, smiling jaw-drop slowly morphs its way onto Mallika's face.

"That's…specious logic…" Tom fumbles, at least not falling prey to the 20-second twittering aghast-ness Kim did.

He does kind of visibly break a little before adding, "But you're hilarious, of course," and rounding out the discussion with a, "Just get me my snickerdoodles."

Spike, aptly still snickering behind him, is met with a positively murderous look by Tom and puts his palms up innocuously, but starts laughing even harder.

"Okay, okay," Kim says, and somehow she likes Tom a bit more now than when he first walked into this bakery.

She collects the cookies one by one and packages them into a to-go box, and it feels like the slowest process ever what with Tom seething petulantly right in front of her and Spike's continued half-muffled guffaws. She dusts her gloved palms against her apron again and hands the sweet confections over the counter. The two quickly make the transaction with the register as middle man and Spike is inexplicably still laughing at this point; it's getting a bit old even for Kim.

A swift blonde cyclone grabs the box and hurls it down on Spike and Mallika's unassuming metal table in a moment's span, with enough force to shake the table (and, of course, dent the box and probably squash all the snickerdoodles contained within). He blocks the light filtering in and drags Spike up by the collar, overwrought expression showing he's about ready to tear this guy's eyeballs out of his head and serve them with caviar.

"If you don't stop that moronic laughter right now, I promise I will stuff a snickerdoodle up your ass until your colon cries out for mercy."

Spike blanches for half a second because Tom practically has steam from his ears roiling out into the air. He's seriously scared even though there's a better-than-good chance he could take this guy. Then realization lights his face, especially because Tom's reddening face is inches away from his.

Gasping for air and practically crying, kind of like if Tom had actually beaten him already, Spike manages, "I – I'm not…really into snickerdoodles…I'm more for the chocolate…chocolate chip cookies…like most guys…Thanks for the offer, but you should keep your snickerdoodle in its package, or your package –"

Tom's articulate interrupting rebuttal is a guttural growl as he snatches the snickerdoodles back up and storms to the threshold of the bakery. The bell tinkles lightly over his head in gentle mockery as he informs the motley group that he will "never again return to this wretched establishment, not ever."

Kim is ready to curl herself over the beveled edge of the counter and begin expressing her own amusement when Mallika, between a "tee-hee" and "hah-hah", notes that while Kim "totally put that jerk in his place", she could have just as easily mentioned Phil, considering he's already Kim's boyfriend.

Kim nods and laughs in response, peering out the window through which Tom, quick-footed and confusing passerby with how pissed he looks, heart on his sleeve as always, is now disappearing around a corner, until she realizes that she had completely forgotten about Phil.

Oh, and she hadn't given Tom any napkins.

**A/N: Wondering how this is ever going to turn into Kim/Tom? Yeah, same here. :\**


	2. Banter with the Baker

**Aggggh. Sorry about taking so long – close to a year – with this! I've had it nearly done for a while but just didn't have the time to finish the rest, dealing with surviving my own high school and…Actually, no excuses. I just suck. **

**Thank you so, so much for the reviews! They literally made me put on techno music and dance around and try to do that once dance move that everyone but me can do, and also not feel uncomfortable sharing that fact. I'm so freaking gratified and hope to not only do SHS justice throughout this, but update more often! WAY more often.**

**To answer some questions, not that I'd blame anyone for not having waited these long months for the answers: Yep, I am the girl from Facebook, and I was inspired to use present tense by She's A Star because she's (or maybe he's? Not sure despite the name. xD) an awesome wordsmith and I figure copying a couple aspects of her literary style might improve my writing! SO glad I captured the characters or at least somewhat succeeded in transferring their personalities to a story medium, because usually I suck at that. Then again, this is my first fanfic. Well, technically I wrote a crossover fic in 8****th**** grade, but it was a crossover with the horrid "novel" I was writing at the time. In fact, direct quote: "I feel so unnaturally blazing with anger until the balmy late-spring day just overtakes me." EEEYEAH. Ew.**

**And YES, Kim/Tom for the win, and I don't like snickerdoodles, either. For some reason the SHS team thought it would be a good literary device (if you remember the, "Snickerdoodles? This is not the time for delicious snacks! Can't you see that everything I love is at…Oh! I get it! If my father destroys the town, then there won't be any more snickerdoodles! The snickerdoodles are a metaphor for everything I like about this town!" thing. Heh.).**

**Again, you all rock and the King of Canada approves this message!**

**Quick question: Tom doesn't know his dad's dead. Does he? And I kind of hope it stays that way. Not even Tom deserves to hear that, even if his dad is a yadda yadda piece of yadda and Tom's still a bit of a yadda.**

**One last thing – I don't have SHS '11 and won't until I convince my parents to let me update the model of my phone. So I guess if anything epic and crazy has happened that ends up making everything I write null and void, then this will just become AU!**

()

The sound of rain reverberates thickly down from the tin awning as it guards the bakery after hours. It's a somewhat relaxed noise, distant and yet close. It reminds Kim of a trip several years ago to Oregon when her family had taken refuge in a rustic, creaking gazebo after a miles-long hike and the local monsoons had suddenly decided to live up to their infamous potential.

Downtown lights stay shining and cars stay flashing through the downpour, the bakery sits darkly with its now-opaque windows and closed vertical blinds, and Kim is isolated in the socketed patch dividing the two. She texts Phil, sitting in the single available chair and trying to rationalize forgetting his existence, or boyfriend status, or whatever exactly it was she forgot about him today. Maybe the experience was just that harrowing or Tom learned some pretty crazy manipulation tactics at that lofty Spartan finishing school of his or maybe she just has short-term memory issues or something. The nighttime shower overhead makes absolving herself a little easier, and talking to Phil does too.

The screen, blaring warmly through the darkness, indicates the arrival of the latest message:

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:12 PM]** lol i cant believe theres no emergency umbrella in the back of the bakery or something

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:13 PM]** i know right? should keep one in there from now on, we need to be prepared for situations like this

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:13 PM]** hope u can get home soon

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:14 PM]** yeah me too, hopefully the car will be fixed soon so i dont have to keep walking home

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:14 PM]** so how was business

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:15 PM]** pretty good, not a lot of ppl. spike and mallika were here & spike tried a snickerdoodle & he didnt like them

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:16 PM]** oh cool

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:16 PM] **no its not cool :P

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:17 PM]** i cant even imagine spike eating a cookie. seems like he would smash it on his forehead like a soda can

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:18 PM]** lmao. but hes not really that much of a punk or whatever

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** oh that makes more sense. i couldnt rly imagine him with mallika otherwise

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** yeah

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:20 PM]** k im gonna go take a shower ;)

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** lol, why did u wink? ;)

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:20 PM]** well b/c ur stuck in the rain of course x) its like, i dunno

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** ironic? oh right ;)

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:20 PM]** haha well u wanna hang 2mrrw?

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** ok sure

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:20 PM]** great. well cya babe

**[Sent to phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:19 PM]** bye, love ya

**[Received from phillicious, 08/16/2010, 9:20 PM]** 3 u

Kim slides the phone shut and hears simultaneously the heavy friction of a van door doing the same nearby. Faint but unmuffled voices make their way through the sheet of rain until their echo can be heard under the awning. It's Hector and Amanda, visible only in a penumbra of light from a nearby streetlight playing against their silhouettes.

"See, Amanda-bear? I told you the bakery closes at 9 on weekdays," Hector says and wraps his jacket around Amanda before she has time to shiver.

"Oh. I thought it was like 'Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.' Except…that other time we were here they let me leave, remember?" Amanda replies in a tone of alarm as she eyes the door mistrustfully.

As Hector and his carefully charismatic ways explain the fear away, Kim remembers the events of Amanda's first trip to the bakery: she wouldn't do more than poke her head through the door and each time she did, the bell jingled, prompting her to run back out and do a quick, futile search for the source of the noise (what she called a "ringy-bird"). Hector stood inside and kept trying to coax her back with, "Amanda-bear, there's no such thing as a ringy-bird. This bell over the door is making the noise, see?" Even when she got that, though, she wouldn't stop saying, "Nobody ever comes in. And nobody ever goes out," in a eerie, conspiratorial voice until an older gentleman (who seemed extremely confused by the girl running past him after he got to the door) successfully entered and left the bakery, disproving her theory.

Yeah, that was pretty much Amanda Applebee in a nutshell. Except sometimes she'd have her more lucid moments and surprise everyone. Kim considered dumping Zach for Hector (well, actually, prolonging her relationship with Zack for as long as possible and experiencing intermittent stabs of guilt after cheating on him repeatedly with Hector. Or more like yo-yoing between guilt and not really comprehending the definition of guilt, because she's Amanda.) the best of those moments.

"Sorry, guys," Kim walks over to them, making sure to keep at least a foot between herself and the still-solid deluge. "We closed about 20 minutes ago. I'd be gone by now, but I'm waiting for the rain to let up a little first."

"I wanted a brownie," Amanda says, then amends, "But a circular one, because Paula and I are still on the circle-food diet."

"I think there's some brownie mix at my place. You don't have to be home 'til midnight or something, right?" Hector offers, his voice on a timbre that says the brownies will never be more than mix because they'll probably do more making out than baking (out?).

"Okay. But the last time I tried to cook food, I burned the kitchen down. And the last time I tried to make brownies, I turned the mixer on too high and the mix went everywhere. I totally ruined my Lou Mutton swimsuit."

"Wait, why were you wearing a swimsuit while baking brownies?" Kim asks.

"I don't remember. Anyway, it was nice talking to you, but I really want a brownie. Let's go, Hector."

"Huh?" Hector's I'm-in-a-naughty-faraway-land smirk wipes off his face.

"Let's go make brownies, silly," Amanda repeats emphatically.

"Oh, well, okay…Catch you later, then, Kim," Hector still seems a bit dazed as Amanda guides him back out into the rain.

"Hey, wait! Kim! You live close by, right? Hecky-poo and I should drop you off."

"Oh, right! My bad! Hop on in, Kim!"

Kim clambers into the party van and adjusts her now-moppy black hair out of her face, sighing a "Thanks, guys," as Hector fumbles with the latest CD from The Assassins. Kim sings along, but there's this latent empty feeling inside her that a certain someone else should be the one coming to the rescue like this.

()

If you've ever watched a TV show directed at the teen demographic, you know full well the story of a childhood lived in affluence. My psychiatrist affirmed those primetime signs and Freudian excuses of a "boy shown such little affection in his formative years" – her words and in past tense, mind you; psychoanalysis was the leftover requirement once Father begrudgingly brought out the big guns (not literally, of course) with Officer Monte about the whole school library arson issue. So while I thankfully was not duty-bound to any community service, I did have to sit for a couple hours every week and listen to drivel about how I was setting libraries on fire for the attention even when Father's plan was known in full by the public. Obviously I commissioned a professional arsonist for the job, and Paula was the one who stole the prom tiara, and Father was the one who made Paula's father hand over all his assets so he could arrange lifting her jail sentence…I suppose I didn't do much of anything wrong, after all, besides manipulate people. And I do that without even attempting to, which seems more like a gift than a fault. Also, Father was the one who wanted the diamonds in the first place – seemed like an absurd argument to me that shutting down Prince Automotive in favor of this stupidly risky venture was anything but…stupid – but you don't tell Silas Prince "no." Granted, I was a bit safe from the fate of a business partner or employee or butler who did the same, but I'd have been relegated to a much worse fate: familial exile, doubly the extent of what I'd previously faced. Still, now that I know what Father's really capable of, maybe zombification and disfigurement via chemical reaction in an attempted homicide is not outside the realm of flesh-and-blood punishment.)

Not that there was no truth to what Psychiatrist-Lady (not obliged to remember the name) said. I was all Father had to hold onto as a sort of compensation for Mother's loss, but by dint of that a bitter remembrance of who he used to be. I was treated in exactly that manner, always two steps behind his care, and that coupled with his busy lifestyle meant I'd see him maybe once daily and rarely speak to him. There was the exception of that uncanny, lifeless lookalike Father had hired as some sort of surrogate, which must have been meant to do more harm than good; I know him better than to suspect that a move causing such disorientation on my end was borne of good intentions on his. Fake dad notwithstanding (although Psychiatrist-Lady had more of a field day with it than I thought possible), family life was a dull abstraction of what it should have been, a sundering exercise in ensuring that I would never stand up to my father (not out of love, but fear, of course). When I do eventually confront him in jail, I'll say everything I want to say; I'll write it down and hold the paper in front of my face if I have to.

There will be more than half an inch of glass separating us, anyway.

()

"There has to be some way around this – I'm Silas Prince's son and I authorize and demand you use any means necessary to ensure I get my inheritance. We may have something with the Cy-près doctrine, because even though Malcolm was initially the rightful heir and father's in jail, my trust fund still has to be honored and –"

Tom Prince slams the phone back on the hook as footsteps padding against the carpet come into earshot. He stands still, head tilted painstakingly, heart pounding; it's probably Lucretia and it doesn't really matter if it is, because she can't do anything to stop him – maybe – but still.

"Hey, Tom? The cook says dinner's ready," Lucretia calls from the entrance in an entirely-too-neutral voice that Tom can't read anything from.

"You know, if you hadn't fired most of the staff, you wouldn't have had to bother with coming up here to tell me," Tom hisses back with necessary malice.

"It was an needless expenditure and we need to put all the money we can into Prince Automotive…We have to restore public faith in it."

"Oh, and you're speaking from how much experience and practice in business, exactly?"

"Well, I – I hired a financial advisor."

If the infuriatingly, teeth-gnashingly close coinage were his, she wouldn't need a financial advisor.

"Why don't you just ask me about these things? I know twice as much about money as any financial advisor in a…100-mile radius around Centerscore!"

"Well, I thought it would be one less thing for you to have to deal with right now. Plus, I never figured you for the type to like getting his hands dirty in all these business affairs."

At this, Tom erupts and knocks the same phone whose conspicuity he had been worrying about moments ago onto the ground and walks menacingly close to Lucretia, divesting his pocket of a few dollar bills and ripping them to shreds before her eyes.

"Yes, there, now you can be confident: I really don't give a shit about what's happening to my own money! If I had all of it…and I swear to God I am entitled to every last cent…I'd be making all these decisions virtually on my own, as opposed to standing by the wayside and not being asked about so much as an as advertisement while my name, my power is reduced to a goddamn allowance of your choosing, probably smaller than that advisor's based on a pleasant mix of 'Oh, a little humility will be good for that boy,' and your own personal need for retribution as approved by the sodding-hell-hole…whole of Centerscore – and –"

"Tom! Tom…" Lucretia takes in a shuddering, almost angry breath of her own, and continues without being sure she's gained any of his attention. "I just…The people of Centerscore, we have to listen to them right now. We have to pour money into the company, really into getting this scandal to go away."

Tom can't see anything in his head except literal melted-down money, the sad, molten, molasses faces of leaders past on dollar bills pouring out of a pitcher, with lemonade-like gold bits following along. And that horrible accompanying stomach-pit feeling that as his money, or even his access to it, drains away, he drains away too, as if a science-fiction madman were using some vacuum invention to suck the life force out of him. Mr. Doom?

"Getting this scandal to go away," Tom repeats in his half-bitter, half-pert Prince way. "Okay. I – I see talking about this isn't going to get us anywhere."

He doesn't want to appear as afraid, even overly cautious, to himself as he now is, and considers just outright telling Lucretia that he intends to get his money back, that he is going to take extreme measures. To initiate the battle and take that look of condescension away from her – that was his too – to cut out the red tape and this endlessly irritating pretense of goodwill between himself and these disgusting new "family members."

()

Tom is also fairly good at multi-tasking, at least if the tasks in question are to his benefit. The current task is a bit of a distraction – Father in jail weighs on his nerves most, sets the tone and preface for everything Tom is currently trying to do. Not in the expected way, though: rather than take back his fortune to avenge his father, Tom has been exceptionally just-rode-that-giant-wave-and-got-first-place-again excited for what Silas' permanent detainment can mean for Tom's financial future. Starting and revamping the Prince Empire early, stretching his Sultan-of-Sand sea legs, commanding all this unending respect, making even more money, probably doubling, tripling the Prince family fortune, and – well, basically, exchanging propriety for douchebaggery at will without getting a word about it from anyone. Tom, somewhere in the tanned-and-toned underbelly of his front of untouchable-ness, does care about what people say about him, maybe sometimes even what they think about him…a lot.

Back to the current task: stealing Mallika back from Spike.

_This should be interesting._

Tom keys his password (initials-and-last-four-digits-of-Social-Security-number-impenetrable-combo) into the AWOL database. He's confused as to why Kim still uses this instead of MyBase and Acebook like most people, but hey, according to a couple sources, Kim…isn't most people. Tom's friend request and subsequent message get an almost instant response, which makes his mouth twitch with some kind of approving complacency – there is room in his mind to find the immediacy both pathetic and quaintly pleasant.

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: hey, Kim? it's Tom

**PrimeRhyme1**: Prince?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: do you know anyone else named tom?

**PrimeRhyme1**: no, i guess i'm just surprised u like laguardia beach and hang out on awol…

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: what, you thought i just communicated with others via telepathy?

**PrimeRhyme1**: u and the other rich kids could afford it, right? but no

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: okay, anyway. i need your help. not sure if you're willing to give it under the circumstances.

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: hello?

**PrimeRhyme1**: sorry, my mom was calling me. so first of all how did u get my username?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: i thought we were past all this line of questioning and distrust business, Kim

**PrimeRhyme1**: sorry to remind you tom, but you burned down a school library

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: not personally. professional arsonist. he was listed under my dad's contacts…

**PrimeRhyme1**: oh of course

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: look, Kim, if i can't even come to you in entreaty on a simple issue because you don't trust me

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: then by what means am i supposed to gain your trust at all?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: it's circular logic.

**PrimeRhyme1**: ok, true. what do u need help with?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: Mallika.

**PrimeRhyme1**: this is not going somewhere i feel good about

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: well

**PrimeRhyme1**: what

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: "…i feel [well] about." anyway, i'll just cut to the chase: i want to date Mallika, and i happen to know you have an interest in Spike. i was thinking we could help each other out.

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: hello?

**PrimeRhyme1**: tom! *well*, how the *hell* do you know about that, and what is wrong with u? do u have any idea what youre asking?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: yes. just calm down and allow me to explain the main point of interest.

**PrimeRhyme1**: i dont even know what to say

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: You're not usually at a loss for words, Kim. i'm sure you could lure spike away from Mallika putting that advantage alone to use. Spike is obviously much better off with you – you have similar interests and you could keep up with him, understand him. and Mallika is sophisticated and rich

**PrimeRhyme1**: first of all, youre saying mallika is too good for spike and still expect it to be a compliment that spike belongs with me instead? second (should really be first), im actually considerate of my friends. no intention to ruin their happiness.

**PrimeRhyme1**: and third, 2 girls fighting over a guy never works and i already learned that the hard way!

**PrimeRhyme1**: the important thing here is that mallika is one of my best friends now. i wont bother to try to explain such a concept

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: probably because, in actuality, she's actually one of your worst enemies. that's a concept one gets familiar with here at Spartan. deny it all you want, but as long as you still like Spike, you're going to continue to hate Mallika on at least a subconscious level.

**PrimeRhyme1**: like krystal and j.d. and that other girl from laguardia beach! right?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: you have no idea what you're talking about and yet are all but hesitant in providing "evidence" to prove your points so brazenly. Krystal and J.D. are characters from The Valley, not Laguardia Beach.

**PrimeRhyme1**: im so sorry. its just that they both have the exact same plot and everything. but i suppose youd love to enlighten me on why im wrong, eh?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: not really. mostly, i'd just like you to consider this whole Mallika debacle for what it is, decide if Spike is worth it, and get back to me. how does that sound?

**PrimeRhyme1**: really, really bad, actually. mostly, i'd just like you to step back, try not to be a sociopath, and get back to me when youre feeling a bit more mentally stable. how does that sound?

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: I'm coming to the bakery tomorrow

A few minutes from now, Tom would have loved to have the "I typed it up without thinking" rationalization handy, but he liked to think he always thought things through, and even if that wasn't true, it still remained that he liked to think so, and Tom Prince always did what he liked, and thus he was now stuck in the refractory position of having to admit this decision was all part of a calculated plan rather than the product of his remorse for having been a complete ass a few days ago.

**PrimeRhyme1**: why? i thought you were never coming back…

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: i don't know. we need to discuss this in person. internet chatting is detestable

**PrimeRhyme1**: while your technophobia is very important to me, i have a job

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: i'm coming anyway. you can decide what to do about it then.

**PrimeRhyme1**: i guess i cant stop you

**PrimeRhyme1**: well, im gonna go. its getting kind of late

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: Alright. I'll see you tomorrow

**PrimeRhyme1**: yep, bye

**LaguardiaBeachFan**: Goodbye

"Goodnight" would have been a bit more apropos, and Tom thinks he can sense the truth of that sinking into him a bit as he glances at the word again, mouse pointer poised on the little red "x" icon, but it's really more like he'd realized that even as he was typing it and had simply repressed what he knew would be most polite in this situation in favor of what "polite" typically implies; informality on a online messaging site would actually be more in convention than this usual staunch and stiff-necked reserve of Tom's. It was interesting that omitting a period was all he could muster, and he finds himself awash in the knowledge that sometimes, maybe more than he realizes, trying your hardest not to be as pathetic as a commoner can make you seem pathetic to a commoner. But only because they're trying to compensate for their own awful lives by using a most practiced ability to delude the self and dilute the worth of the greater target, of course.

Tom exits the screen and shuts the computer down, throttling the button on the system unit snappishly instead of using the proper Start menu function to let the machine have time to set its own innards to slumber. Not now up to the task going to bed as he had planned, he swivels in his chair all Casanova-like to go from one machine of choice to the other, the computer to the TV. Maybe there's a rerun of Laguardia Beach saved on DVR…


End file.
